


Winds of Fortune

by monoidea



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, M/M, Rescue, Superstition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:42:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24092293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monoidea/pseuds/monoidea
Summary: Well, Captain Fairwind seemed to have a plan, albeit it wasn't a flawless one.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45
Collections: Fairshaw Week 2020





	Winds of Fortune

**Author's Note:**

> Written for #FairshawWeek 2020 prompt Day 4: Superstition.

They lay sprawled on the bed, sweat cooling rapidly and their breath evened out slowly while their heartbeat returned to a normal pace. Outside darkness engulfed Boralus as the night crawled on. Shaw lay on his back, gazing at the ceiling, lost in a post-coital haze but his coherent thoughts returned at an alarming rate, chasing away the vestiges of sleepiness in their wake. Flynn was on his side, his body a limp heap, drowsing. His eyes lazily mapped Shaw's face, the way the dwindling firelight lit his features and drew out the silhouette of his profile. His sight landed on Shaw's eyes that were staring intently at the ceiling. Out of curiosity he followed his gaze and tried to discern what the man was looking at with such an empty glare, but he found nothing of interest on the ceiling of his home, just the bland beams of wood.  
"A penny for your thoughts?" he asked after a while, curiosity winning over the desire to sleep. Shaw only grunted. Flynn waited patiently and was rewarded with a response at long last.  
"Tomorrow" Shaw started slowly, his eyes were still boring into the wooden beams.  
"Tomorrow we leave for Nazmir. We're launching an assault on the Horde." This was confidential, but Shaw had long come to the conclusion that Flynn doesn't yap about Alliance business - except when he is directly involved.  
"You're nervous," Flynn noted. He swallowed because Shaw didn't deny it.  
"There are some sketchy parts. We don't have enough intel, and we can't risk sending more operatives to their deaths." Shaw continued. Flynn listened to the slow words, amazed at the sliver of honesty because Shaw rarely shared anything that was going on in that chaotic mind of his.  
"It's a gamble then."  
Shaw shut his eyes at that, with a wrinkle of his nose.  
"I do not gamble," Shaw said. "Especially not when I know the odds aren't in our favour."  
"Hmm. The odds aren't in your favor, huh?" Flynn said thoughtfully, and after a long time, Shaw's eyes landed on him, sensing that the other was working up something. Flynn sat up and leaned over Shaw.  
"Then you need a bit of luck, it seems," he said and went to remove the little pendant from around his neck. He earned a skeptical look from the older man.  
"I doubt a necklace with a tiny seashell would make any difference," he said, entirely unconvinced.  
"That's where you are wrong, mate," Flynn said, the necklace dangling in his hand. "It could make a world of difference. I tell you, this little bugger saved my life countless times."  
"How do you know it was that?" Shaw asked with a genuinely doubtful look.  
"Well, there was a time when I didn't wear it. All sorts of bad things happened to me." He reached down and made a move to put it around Shaw's neck, but Shaw stopped his feeble hands.  
"All the more reason you probably shouldn't give it away."  
"You need it more."

***

Shaw didn't believe in luck. He believed in his senses and his wits, and the two working together as a team. He believed in reliable intelligence and thorough planning.  
"I deem it was the Light's work" It took a lot of composure for Shaw to not make a skeptical remark at Wyrmbane's words. Their assault was an unanticipated success, with them eradicating a dozen of Forsaken ships and ended up essentially destroying the foundation of their base in the north. There were zero casualties on the Alliance side, only a champion came close to dying and a few soldiers were injured.  
"Does the Light enjoy the massacre of the Forsaken?" Shaw asked, biting his tongue because he didn't want to start another debate with the paladin, but it sort of slipped out. Wyrmbane sent him a mournful look but chose to ask a question instead.  
"What do you think it was then?"  
Shaw found that he only had one answer for that.  
"Luck." He said, the word foreign on his tongue. His fingers found the pendant in his pocket, and his palm closed around its edges absentmindedly.  
They were close to Boralus, the mountains of Drustrvar visible on the horizon and closing in. The two men stood side-by-side at the railing of the ship, and Wyrmbane turned his eyes towards the vast ocean, pondering on Shaw's answer. His eye caught something in the distance and pointed at it. Shaw immediately reached for his binoculars, trying to make out the faraway scene. His eye caught two ships and he let out a curse. A ship flying Horde colors was tailing a small Kul-Tiran vessel. They heard frantic footsteps behind him. An agent emerged from the deck with haste, holding a gnomish device in her hand.  
"We just received a distress call from the Middenwake."

***

A sense of foreboding descended over the crew of the Middenwake as they set sail from the Rotting Mire, and it didn't lift for the rest of the journey. Some sighed in relief when the mountains of Drustvar appeared on the horizon, but their comfort was shortlived. A Horde vessel tailed them and was catching up swiftly. The Middenwake was filled with Azerite to the brim, which not only made it slower but also posed as a serious threat if it were to catch on fire. It was only a matter of time before the ship caught up with them, and they had no option than to surrender, lest the Horde decided to use firepower. There was a slim chance of being able to negotiate their way through this, but the fact that the champions of the Horde just received a serious beating on the island didn't help.  
Well, Captain Fairwind seemed to have a plan, albeit it wasn't a flawless one. 

***

Flynn let a victorious grin spread on his face as the sails went up in flames, the swift wind fueling it and setting them ablaze. Of course he was discovered at the first act, and he was entirely outnumbered. A single scoundrel facing two dozens. He seriously hoped some bard would write a song based on his feats, and a pang of remorse hit him with the realization that he wouldn't be around to hear it. He already wasted the element of surprise by setting the sails on fire, and while part of the crew was trying frantically to douse the flames, the rest of the group closed in on him with bloodthirsty cries. He wouldn't go down without a fight, it wasn't his way and mustered all his strength for a counterattack. Two orcs lunged at him. Between the swings of their weapons, Flynn managed to catch a brief glance of his beloved ship, its form receding in size. His plan was a success, his ship escaped unscathed, passengers and cargo safe. 

***

A cutlass clattered on the deck, followed by patters of red blood, mingling with the darker puddles seeping into the cracks of the planks. Flynn used his now-free hand to press on a gaping wound in his side, in a feeble attempt to keep his intestines where they belong. His vision was blurring, but he managed to deflect a swift strike coming from his right. Several bodies lay at his feet, some unmoving the others injured and trying to crawl to safety. He wondered what Shaw would say, would he praise his handiwork? Or chide him for being reckless. The latter seemed more probable. Both his anger and the adrenaline surging in his veins were depleting quickly and his breath came in short gaps. Another attack came, and this time he was too slow. He gritted his teeth to stifle his pained cry, only half-succeeding. He coughed and wheezed and felt a sudden chill crawl on his back, despite the very warm blood flowing in rivulets from the freshly inflicted slash wound, a large gash that tore through his favourite coat mercilessly. He was losing too much blood, he realized, as he lost his grip on his other cutlass. His whole figure was swaying, fingers growing numb and cold. Through is swimming vision he saw two orcs, weapons at the ready, but they seemed to be hesitating. _Honor_ , thought Flynn, mind detached from his body. They didn't attack him because he was unarmed now, practically defeated. A threat eliminated. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees with an audible thud though he didn't feel pain from the impact. Before he could fall forward ungraciously in a heap, a merciless hand grabbed his ponytail. An injured troll woman caught him, his hair was viciously pulling at his scalp. He let out a wheeze, and in the edge of his sight, he saw a sword raised with the intent to sever his neck, ready to strike. Flynn tore his eyes away from the weapon and gazed at the sky instead. It was an amazing hue of blue. He closed his eyes.

***

He heard the awful sound of metal slicing flesh, and Flynn briefly wondered if he should feel pain at all after a beheading. A sudden bout of vertigo hit him, but then hands caught him, steadying him. He had a sudden epiphany that he was still whole, and not only that. He was being held, gently. He cracked his eyes open, the blue sky was still there, but half of it was obscured by a well-known face. He could barely make out the familiar features through the fog, and a sound got lodged in his throat. It was Shaw. His ears were buzzing, the occasional clank of metal sliced through the noise and he heard someone speaking urgently, and it was a deep baritone voice he loved to hear. He couldn't make out the words, couldn't discern one sound from the other. He closed his eyes and tried to inhale a breath. It resulted in a weak cough, something warm flooded his mouth with a taste of metal, and the face above him filled with something akin to worry. Some of the air managed to get into his burning lungs though, because the next time he opened his eyes, his focus was more clear. He even managed to let a weak smile spread on his - probably bloodied - face. Shaw yelled something, there were other people on the ship, friendly ones, Flynn assumed, but in his small world, only Shaw existed, with his arms around his torso much like a comforting blanket. The pain was distant. Shaw spoke and this time he could hear more clearly.  
"Nice body count, Fairwind," Shaw said with a wry smile, with the attempt to keep a façade of being calm, but failing miserably. His face held obvious concern and fear and no traces of the praise he just uttered.  
Flynn closed his eyes once more, unable to keep them open anymore and his consciousness faded quickly. He felt something slip around his neck, a weightless chain, his necklace he realized. The content smile remained plastered on his face and darkness engulfed him, but not before he felt warm lips against his cold forehead and hearing a deep sound.  
"Don't you dare die, you fool."

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, I just realized that I sort of left the ending open. Woe me.


End file.
